


Highway to Hell

by nocturnias



Series: Below and Above [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon Related, F/M, Gen, Headcanon, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 16:09:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9392789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nocturnias/pseuds/nocturnias
Summary: They made a deal. Sherlock was wrong. My take on the "5 minutes, unsupervised."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MizJoely](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/gifts).



He could barely contain his anticipation as they led him to her cell. A sister? Smarter than all of them, including him? Forget being her Christmas present. She was his. 

Not that he was going to tell her that, of course. If she were as smart as Croftie said she was, and she probably was, she'd know it anyway. But that wasn't going to stop him from seeing what goodies she had to offer from her basket.

As soon as the doors opened then he saw her, she astounded him. Not because she was extraordinary beautiful. No, he had better things to do than that. If a nice face and a good set of tits was all he wanted, he could just go fuck Irene Adler. No, it was the sheer *presence* of her. He'd never felt anything like it.

He strode up to the glass as though he'd been visiting her every day of his life. And she did the same, mirroring his every movement, two sets of dark eyes drowning in a sea of mutual appreciation of insanity.

"I'm your Christmas present," he said without preamble. They did only have five minutes after all. He smiled. "What's mine?"

Her lips curved into a genuine return smile. If he were any other man, he'd have run screaming at that smile. She glanced up at a camera on the wall, and the light went out. Her eyes met his again as she pressed herself against the glass. He did the same, wanting to drink her in, to devour her. He'd never wanted anything so much in his life at that moment as he wanted her.

And suddenly, she was there. There was no glass, only the entire length of her body pressed against his. They were nearly the same height, and they fit together as two pieces of a black puzzle.

"Nice one," he said.

"I don't want you to kill Sherlock," she said, equally without preamble.

His eyes widened slightly. "Well, that's a rather large request for a first date. Want to do the honors yourself, do you?"

"No. I don't want him dead at all. I want worse than death for him."

"What's worse than dying?" he asked. 

She tilted her head back slightly to study him. "Living, of course."

"I'm rather fond of being alive," he said.

"No, you're not. You're bored. You play these hundreds of little games as a way to amuse yourself. You're searching for that ultimate fulfillment. And I can give that to you. If you agree to let Sherlock live, I'll give you two things in exchange."

"What's the first one?" he asked. 

She brought her lips half an inch from his ear. "Redbeard." 

"What's Redbeard?" he asked. 

"Sherlock's greatest weakness. One that he doesn't even remember that he has. I can tell you all his weaknesses. I can tell you everything you want to know to ruin his oh-so-comfortable life." 

He shoved down the shiver that her voice evoked. "I agree. Go on," he said.

So she told him. There was no need for her to whisper everything in his ear, but she did. Like some schoolgirl whispering secrets to another. And he loved it; he licked it up like a cat with cream. Occasionally his eyes got wide, and he'd gasp "NO!" In that "Oh, you're KIDDING" sort of way. When she told him all about Victor Trevor, he actually giggled. "Oh, you naughty, naughty girl," he purred.

When she'd finished, they stared at each other for a few seconds. 

"You don't disappoint," she said. 

"Neither do you." 

"There's one more request I have. However you choose to bring about Sherlock's ruin I leave to your design. But there is one person that you absolutely must leave out of the plans." 

He raised his eyebrows. "Going to be a bit difficult to leave John Watson out of anything having to do with Sherlock," he said. "That's his prized pet."

"Not John Watson. Molly Hooper."

Moriarty's eyebrows went even higher. "Molly. Hooper. The pathologist at Bart's? What does she have to do with it? She's nothing to Sherlock."

"She is essential to my plan," Eurus said flatly.

Moriarty narrowed his eyes. "You know something I don't know, don't you?"

"I know many things you don't know," Eurus said, as matter-of-factly as if she'd just announced it was about to rain.

"Touché. We only have about a minute left. How are you going to give me my second present?"

Eurus only looked at him. Then she turned, walked away, and pressed a button on a small device she took from under her pillow. There was a soft, metallic click. The clock on the wall moved back by three minutes.

Moriarty whistled. "But what about your big brother? Surely Mycroft will notice the time discrepancy," he said as she moved back to him. 

"My brother forgot to wear his watch today," Eurus said. "Plus, I arranged for the chef here to make his favorite cake, which he will be eating a huge slice of in the monitoring room right now. By the time he realizes what happened, it will be too late."

"So. What now?" Moriarty asked. Even as he spoke, he realized that she had never moved away from him, even after she had finished filling his head with their sweet, horrible secrets.

"Sex," she said simply.

He felt his blood rush.

"Think of it," she said. "Every time you see Mycroft or Sherlock, you'll be able to think of how you've had sex with their sister. And they'll never know."

"Somehow I'm not sure this is completely an act of nobility on your part," Moriarty said dryly.

"I have no nobility," she replied. "But I like sex, and I'd like to have sex with you." 

"Why?" he asked. 

"Curiosity. I've never had sex that didn't result in my killing them afterwards. And I want to know what sex with you would be like." 

"How can I refuse an offer like that?" Moriarty asked, reaching down to unzip his trousers. As he freed himself from them, Eurus removed her pajama bottoms, displaying no emotion other than what could only be described as clinical fascination.

There were no tender words, no whispered promises. This was something purely primal for both of them, the culmination of an attraction of the mind manifesting through the body. There was no need for grasping each other's wrists or struggling for dominance. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he pressed her against the wall, both of them gripping the other hard enough to hurt and neither of them caring.

Her climax took him by surprise. It took less than a minute, and as she came, she let out a savage scream. The sound both gave him a chill and pushed him over the edge, and he viciously hissed as he spilled into her.

He pulled back to look at her. Her face, which had been nearly undone mere seconds ago, was perfectly composed again. 

"Sex is better this way," she said. "It takes so long for them to clean things up after." 

Moriarty chuckled. "Oh, Eurus. I think I could love you a little bit, if I were capable of loving anyone." 

She tilted her head. "Interesting. I wonder if I could ever say the same."

"You could get out of here with me you know," he told her. 

For the first time in their encounter, she looked genuinely amused. "What makes you think that I can't leave here anytime I want to?" 

"Then why do you stay?" 

"I like it here. It's mine. Mycroft thinks it's his and I let him. But when he's not here, I'm in control."

"Will I see you again?" Moriarty asked as they put their clothes in order. 

"No. You could be a distraction, and I could be a distraction to you. That's not something either one of us can afford. We each have a plan. Nothing matters but the plan." 

"True enough," he replied. "Well. It seems even our extension is about to run out. It's been a pleasure, Eurus."

"Yes, I think it has," she answered, brows knitting together for a second before her face smoothed again. "Context. Emotion is dangerous." 

"But some of it is so much fun," he answered. 

He didn't wait for her to reply, merely strode to the door the same way he had come in.

Once he was gone, she picked up her violin. She'd never played Ravel before, considering him too erratic, putting too much emotion into his compositions and not enough complexity. But somehow, for this one time, it was fitting.


End file.
